


No Way Out But Through

by Valentyn



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Angst, Family Drama, M/M, Tevinter Imperium
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-19 18:52:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3620529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valentyn/pseuds/Valentyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian Pavus and The Iron Bull meet for the first time on their wedding day. Arranged between the Qunari and Tevinter, recent events have resulted in an extremely tentative peace between the peoples for the first time in ages, and it's their job to act as a symbol of that possible unity - as well as spy on each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i swear to god i didn't mean to do this
> 
> So I was hangin' out on tumblr, checkin' out some sweet blogs, and what did I stumble upon but a plea for an arranged marriage AU. I laughed, agreed that it would be great, and went to bed. But I did not sleep. Instead I concocted the backstory that would allow it to exist and that's what you get. 
> 
> I have vague plans but I make absolutely no promises about A) overall length or B) regular updates. However, you can chat with me on tumblr at any time about things. All aboard the arranged marriage train choo choo motherfuckers we're all in for a wild ride.

Dorian certainly has always envisioned the day of his wedding somewhat differently. For one, it was supposed to be to someone he actually _liked_. For another, it was supposed to be _tasteful_ , not so ostentatious it bordered on tacky. Finally, he’s fairly sure there isn’t supposed to be a cold dread coiling in the pit of his stomach as he finishes dressing.

He understands the reason for it, of course – a marriage puts his foreign spouse on equal footing, more or less, granting them certain rights and freedoms within the Imperium that would otherwise be inaccessible, no matter how politely the politicking was supposed to go. After all, there are some closed doors you simply cannot open, no matter how polite a delegation you bring with you.

Dorian just wishes he’d held onto his anger long enough to see him deep in the frostbacks, instead of returning just to subject himself to – _this_.

He consoles himself by checking his appearance once more in the floor-length mirror. Light white robes, tailored to show off his rather striking figure, with elaborate gold embroidery on the short sleeves and hems, tasteful gold buckles down one side and all done up in a royal blue sash. Dark pants, matching boots, and tasteful application of makeup finish the look. It’s a shame the outfit will swiftly be thrown back into his wardrobe and never seen again for the remainder of his natural lifespan; Dorian is absolutely radiant.

He's fairly sure he's going to be sick.

Pulling his collar straight so it frames his neck and jaw _just so_ , he allows himself only a moment to smile wistfully at his own reflection before forcefully smothering his lingering misgivings. At least without his usual array of jewelry adorning his hands he has nothing to fidget nervously with.

“My lord? It’s time.” A voice calls softly before knocking on the door to his dressing room, and Dorian allows himself one last deep sigh as he straightens his posture and schools his features. Shoulders back, head high, he throws open the door and strides out to seal his fate with every ounce of pride he can possibly muster.

\---

Even Krem laughing his ass off when he broke the news had been preferable to the hushed conversations that follow him as he gets ready. Bull isn’t _nervous_ , per se – although he can’t say he enjoys the thought of being tied to some ‘Vint asshole for his foreseeable future – but the stuffy atmosphere of the chantry does nothing to ease his worries about his assignment.

He finishes lacing up his pristine white vest, knotting it and examining his appearance critically. He’s been groomed to within an inch of his life, enduring a bath and shave and having extensive geometric patterns painted on in black and white vitaar across his shoulders and arms while he sat painfully still for an hour. The result was nice, he had to admit, the patterns accentuating his muscles the way a full coat wouldn’t be able to.

Plus it would come in handy if someone tried to fry him and he had to knock some heads together.

Ah, if only Krem could see him now. He smiles mirthlessly at his reflection, wishing he at least had a couple of his Chargers in the city instead of left at the border to take on jobs solo until he could figure out what to do with them. They’d taken the news pretty well, after Krem had stopped laughing at the thought of Bull getting married off like some Orlesian fop and realized he was dead serious. _That_ had raised some questions – chief among them being how the Qunari don’t exactly do marriage, let alone political ones – but apparently someone back in Par Vollen thought it was too good a chance to get into the nobility to pass up.

Enough that the Iron Bull was being picked as the most expedient agent for the job, instead of someone who stood out a little less.

Grumbling to himself, he stretches and shakes out, as if it will help rid him of nagging thoughts on all the ways this could quickly go wrong.

“Ready? It’s time.” An elf girl pokes her head in to wave him out, and he takes a measure of comfort in the fact that his delegation is made up of no less than five capable fighters, with several more placed around the building just in case. Just another job.

He steps out into the hall, following it to the end where it opens up to a small foyer. Bull hardly has a moment to take in the rich gold and blue drapery adorning the statues before the door opposite him is thrust open. The man that strides out is… not what he’d expected, actually.

Bull is mildly surprised by the young man that moves to stand before him, a brief pause on the threshold his only reaction to the Qunari’s presence. _Regal_ is the only word Bull can think as he takes in the ‘Vint’s appearance, fine white robes against dark skin, only the barest hesitation before staring him in the eye with a pleasant if not entirely genuine smile. Bull inclines his head slightly, offering his arm.

“Shall we?” His partner lets out the slightest huff and takes his arm, though Bull can’t tell if it’s amused or irritated or just a bit winded from the walk. He notes the very brief edge of a frown as the double doors of the hall open and they pass through and then it’s gone just as quick, blandly pleased expression in place once more.

He doesn’t dwell on it as they proceed into the grand hall and he has to hold in a laugh at the overwrought décor. Everything is draped in silks and flowers and extra statuary, bringing what would be a pleasant experience normally to the edge of distasteful. It almost distracts from the fact that the guests in attendance are the political groups that arranged the whole thing and one of the grooms is a Qunari.

\---

The stately walk from the doors through the hall and up to the Revered Mother feels interminable. When they finally make it to the front and he lifts his hand from where it rested on the Qunari’s thick forearm he finds himself with nothing to do but maintain a calm exterior and stare up at his soon-to-be _husband_. That makes a whole new set of knots twist in his gut, only held in check by years of experience dancing around issues in Tevinter society. He resolutely does _not_ even so much as glance at the assembled guests, _refuses_ to acknowledge a single one of them, family included.

“We are gathered today to celebrate the union of two peoples seeking peace and prosperity. This blessed couple takes on the privileges and duties of not only wedded citizens, but champions of the approaching calm. Dorian of House Pavus, respected Altus and scholar, will bring to this union the spirit and tenacity of Tevinter. Joining him is The Iron Bull of Par Vollen, representing the strength and will of the Qun. They marry today for the betterment of themselves and their proud peoples.”

Dorian does pay proper attention when the Revered Mother begins speaking, dutifully not scoffing or rolling his eyes at the platitudes. The emotional aspect of a typical marriage is only glossed over, much to his relief, and when it’s time to recite their vows – helpfully provided by the interested parties, of course, resulting in something significantly more magnanimous than Dorian would have penned – his voice doesn’t waver in the slightest.

Privately, he has to admit to himself that this “Iron Bull” isn’t what he’d expected. Not that he had any clear idea of what to expect, granted. At least he was pleasant to look at, taut muscle over a broad frame, eyepatch lending him a slightly roguish air. He hadn’t considered how awkward it would be to wed a Qunari woman who would surely tower over him just the same, if the current specimen before him is any indication. At least Dorian can remain secure in being the most attractive one in the room, marginal as his lead may be.

Bull reads his portion of their vows, voice deep and steady, and Dorian again resolutely does not look out to the assembled guests. The stricken look he imagines on his father’s face is much more satisfying than he’s sure the real thing ever could be.

The Revered Mother directs them to place their palms together and they do, Dorian’s hand seeming laughably dainty in comparison. His stomach gives one last good lurch as she wraps a length of cord around their joined hands, a symbolic gesture of how he’s now bound to this man for the rest of his life. He trembles only slightly as the knot is wound around their hands, slipping the ends through so they can grasp them and pull free, leaving a decorative knot suspended between them. It’s lovely. He wants to set it on fire.

The last thing to do is exchange their rings, fine bands of gold with a braid of other colored metals pressed down the center, very elegant and refined without, miraculously, being tacky or gaudy. Thank the Maker for small mercies.

Dorian maintains his soft smile during the exchange, not faltering even as their hands touch. This time he doesn’t tremble, not as the ceremony concludes with Bull leaning down to ever-so-lightly brush their lips together and not as he finally turns toward their audience as a newly married man.

There’s a bit of applause, quiet murmuring, and at least one sigh of relief almost certainly from his father as they proceed to the exit as they came in, arm in arm.

He finally breathes a soft sigh as they make it out of the public eye, dropping his hand from Bull’s arm and pacing slowly toward the enormous side room cleared for their reception. The silence between them is heavy, and Dorian is loath to break it. Catching himself twisting his newest ring, he drops his hands to his sides again and risks a glance back at his – _husband_.

“So, _The_ Iron Bull?” He keeps his tone light, conversational, a hint of a smile and raised eyebrow. Casual interest, nothing pressing. Tests the waters.

“I prefer the definite article,” The Iron Bull responds, chuckling. Dorian is surprised, seeing how at ease the Qunari seems given the circumstances. “It’s like – ah, I’ll explain it later. Qunari don’t have names, so I picked one that made me sound tough.” Dorian actually lets a genuine smile slip out for a moment at that, as if the huge man needed anything to make him seem tougher. Shaking his head a bit, he huffs a soft laugh and steps into the improvised reception hall.

\---

The decorations are no less grossly ornate, but at least there’s food and drink. The air of tension has relaxed, and Bull finds himself at least mildly entertained by the goings-on of all the wedding’s attendees. He doesn’t _eavesdrop_ exactly, but if he happens to overhear a few hushed conversations while he’s getting a new glass of wine, well.

The food is rich, spiced meats and delicate pastries and strong creamy cheeses, paired with several varieties of fine wines, nibbles of candied fruit and nuts. As with everything in Tevinter, it smacks of careless wealth. They went to all the trouble, though, so if Bull indulges a little he’s sure everyone will understand. It’s a _celebration_ , after all.

He and Dorian stay relatively close, never ruining the illusion of a happy couple, but there’s enough distance that he’s able to briefly speak with the people who arranged this all for him. The longer they go without incident, the more concerned everyone seems to be getting – and Bull doesn’t blame them. Since when has a Tevinter party not ended in bloodshed?

“You did well. I know it’s difficult, but it was the best –“ Bull’s attention is caught when he notices Dorian speaking to a man by the desserts.

“I know. I understand. Maker knows I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” There’s a subtle biting tone to the remark, though Bull can’t quite figure out what it means. He gestures dismissively, though it’s clear he’s restraining himself. The other man sighs heavily through his nose.

“Dorian, please. You’ve done a good thing. It’s a compromise, of course –“ Dorian shakes his head, cutting him off again.

“Please, save the platitudes for –“ Bull slides away to procure some more meats as Dorian seems to recall the mixed company they’re keeping, the irritation sliding out of his posture and expression in a clearly practiced gesture. Interesting.

As the evening wears on, however, past dinner and desserts and plenty of rare beverages that all taste the same, not much else of note happens. By the end he’s passing familiar with the other Magisters making up the Tevinter party and Dorian has spoken to a few of his people, all without any real incident or even content beyond the weather and stilted congratulations. Bland, predictable, and practically unheard of.

Still, when a suitable amount of time spent mingling has passed, Bull meets Dorian by the door, they bow gracefully as a pair, and make their exit without incident. Safely ensconced in a carriage, they head toward their new estate, a small offshoot of the Pavus holdings renovated and furnished specifically for them. Dorian is silent on the ride, electing to wring his hands together and stare out the window. Bull decides after a moment that conversation is not forthcoming, and turns his attentions to the roads as well, familiarizing himself with the city as best he can.

The manor house is impressive, even by night. A small fountain out front, flanked by flowering shrubs, speaks tastefully to the wealth of the Pavus household. High hedges and a wrought iron fence screen off the sides and back of the house, but Bull is willing to bet upon first glance that there are some private gardens, possibly a pond. At least his newest assignment will ensure he has a nice mattress, unlike most of the jobs he’s had.

He feels the tension rising again as they approach the entrance, Dorian drumming his fingers against the glass. They aren’t quite drawn to a stop when he leaps out of the carriage, striding purposefully up the front steps to the wide doors. Bull follows a few paces behind, length of stride making up for Dorian’s head start. He watches his new husband unlock and throw the doors wide, and as soon as he steps over the threshold it’s like something snaps. Muttering what Bull can only assume are elaborate curses, Dorian twists the ring from his finger and _throws_ it, ring clattering against the wall and floor with a bell-like chime. Without pause he storms up the stairs to what Bull can only assume are the private quarters.

Much slower, Bull follows and takes stock of his new lodgings, stooping to retrieve Dorian’s ring from where it ended up at the base of the marble stairs.

Well, at least his time will be interesting. He pockets it and heads up to explore the house a bit before attempting to get some sleep.

 


	2. Chapter 2

For one glorious, fleeting moment, Dorian is happy. Wrapped in soft sheets, just this side of awake, he revels in the pleasant warmth and morning sunlight slanting from his bedroom window.

And then he remembers.

Sitting up with a disgusted sigh, Dorian combs his hands through his hair and mustache, rubs a palm wearily across his face. As far as he knows marriage isn’t supposed to sour good mornings, and yet here he is, wondering idly if he could get away with not speaking to anyone outside this room.

Before the thought can take hold he throws off the covers, only mourning the loss for as long as it takes to pull his clothing for the day into place. Much less formal (though no less striking), he dresses in a high-collared crème robe for his day in. Dorian secures the myriad buckles and ties with practiced ease and considers his reflection in the mirror above his vanity table. Scowling the whole time he forces his hair into some semblance of order, tidies his mustache, runs a hand over his chin and decides the faint shadow isn’t enough to warrant the trouble of shaving. Then again, presentation is always important, even if it takes longer…

He’s dithering and he knows it.

Retrieving his usual assortment of rings he slides them into place, taking comfort in the familiar weight. Silly, perhaps, to armor himself so in his own home, but better than being caught unawares. By _what_ he hadn’t the faintest idea, but he isn’t looking forward to his first – _domestic_ encounter with the man he’d met and wed all in one evening.

Dorian steps out of his bedroom, slowly paces the hall and down the stairs toward the kitchen. The space is clean, impersonal, but it’s plainer than the proper dining room and a bit less cold. He’s pleasantly surprised to see The Iron Bull seated at the wooden table, ignoring plates of cheese and fruit and cold boiled eggs in favor of what appears to be a stack of correspondence. He pauses in the doorway to take in the strange sight, a huge Qunari carefully scrawling his responses to various letters seated at his kitchen table.

His ‘outfit’, if it can even be described as such, is a far cry from the formal attire he’d first seen. The Iron Bull had left the carefully painted patterns across his arms and shoulders, still as solid and striking as last night, but elected to forgo a shirt entirely. Not a bad look over all, save for the absolutely _hideous_ pants the man is wearing, olive and burgundy striped.

“If you’re going to admire me all day,” Bull doesn’t look up from his letter when he speaks, causing Dorian to startle at the sudden sound of his voice. “at least sit down while you do it. It’ll save you the trouble of trying to be inconspicuous.” There’s a warm humor to the jest, and Dorian isn’t sure whether to laugh or be indignant about it.

Ultimately he elects to do neither; he’d planned on being cordial this morning, trying to strike up a relatively inoffensive conversation, but instead all he manages is a concerned “What are you _wearing_?”

He seats himself across from Bull, folding his hands neatly on the tabletop. Bull finishes writing his current missive and sets it aside to dry. Finally turning his attention to Dorian, he nudges one of the plates across the table. “Pants?”

Dorian waves his hand emphatically. “No, _these_ are pants. _Those_ are a _sin_. What poor wandering minstrel did you leave homeless?”

Bull laughs at that, picking up another letter to examine. “He deserved it.”

Dorian’s pleased at the quick and admittedly unexpected retort. “I should hope so, none of the rest of us do.” He casts one more significant look at the offensive fabric and scoffs, peering at the food laid on the table, and hesitantly plucks an egg from its plate. Examining it, suspiciously neatly peeled, he doesn’t notice until he takes a bite that Bull is pulling a letter from his stack. When he holds it out Dorian frowns, setting down his food to accept it. It’s very plain, no special marks or particular identifying features. Dorian’s name is neatly written on the front, and the seal is just an unstamped dripping of red wax.

“Where did this come from?” He breaks the seal in a swift movement, frowning as he begins skimming the contents.

“It was with the others already.” Dorian hums and the parchment abruptly goes up in flames, leaving a coarse ash drifting onto the table. Bull jerks back slightly, holding in the majority of his reflexive profanity. “Do you always get rid of your mail that way?”

Dorian smirks at his grumbling. “Only when it’s unimportant.” He dusts the ash from his fingertips, contemplating the mess on the table.

“What did it say?” Bull folds his own letters and sets them aside in a tidy stack, capping his inkwell. Dorian smiles tightly at him.

“Something dreadful, I assume. I stopped paying attention after the vague insults to my lineage and insinuations of – I don’t know, soiling something or other with my presence. It’s all very rote.” He picks his egg up again, gesturing with it. “I had hoped they would at least wait a few days before sending nasty letters. If you do see a courier next time be sure to get a name, though I’m almost glad I don’t have to unravel the mystery of who’s accosting me yet.”

 Bull snorts as Dorian finally devours the egg he’s been waving around. “This happen often?”

Dorian shakes his head slowly, retrieving an orange from the selection of available fruit. “Not as such. Typically there’s a bit more trading of gossip at the latest parties, vague implications of unsavory activity, that sort of thing. Rumors, mostly.”

“Should we be worried?” Bull drums his fingers on the table while Dorian deftly peels his orange.

Humming for a moment, Dorian offers his companion a section of his fruit. “At present? Doubtful.” He places the wedge into Bull’s palm, not touching but extremely aware of the proximity and size difference of their hands. Shaking his head, he pulls off another wedge for himself and chews on it thoughtfully. “Keep an eye out for more of the same, I suppose. If there was anything worth publicizing it already would be; at most they currently have half-formed rumors.”

“Why bother sending the letter here then?” Bull frowns at the piece orange briefly before he eats it.

“Inexperience, perhaps?” Even as he says it Dorian shakes his head again. “Indignation. Hope that I’ll pursue the matter and it will lead me to someone the sender has a rivalry with. There’s nothing so gauche as getting caught, after all.” Dorian smiles with too many teeth.

“You almost sound like a spy. Here I thought that was my job.” Bull snorts in amusement and Dorian shrugs.

“Tevinter politics. Nothing quite like spreading rumors that can get families disgraced and individuals summarily executed over fine cheeses. Unless you’ve been to Orlais, or so I hear.” He has a nagging thought – spy? The Iron Bull? But it promptly vanishes, pushed aside for later. Of course he’s a spy, unconventional as it may seem. At this point _Dorian_ is expected to become a spy of sorts. As much good as that will do anyone.

The Iron Bull laughs. “Pretty _and_ clever. I’m a lucky man.”

Dorian’s smile tightens a fraction, goes brittle and a little sharp at the edges. Of course. He’d managed to forget somehow, just for a moment, the exact predicament he’s in. Not forget, perhaps. Dorian had merely allowed himself the fleeting hope that they would in private at least acknowledge the union for the farce it is. Or not acknowledge it at all.

Forcing himself to relax, he summons every ounce of willpower to his unconcerned façade. “Quite. In any case,” He stands, inclines his head marginally to Bull. “I have business to attend to. My belongings won’t sort themselves.” As quickly as he dares Dorian strides away from the table, out the kitchen doors, and to his new study.

\---

Bull watches the the sudden biting edge creep into Dorian’s smile, the only warning he gets before the ‘Vint is up and out the door. He doesn’t run, exactly, but the stiff set to his shoulders tells Bull all he needs to know. Damn.

He’d seemed fairly pleased at the idea of tearing into some of his fellows, but hadn’t turned that hard smile on Bull until the end… Was it the compliment that set him off, or something else? Shaking his head, Bull finishes his letters – replies to his contacts, a report of the previous night’s proceedings, an answer to Krem’s fussing – and all too soon he finds himself in a mostly-empty manor house with nothing pressing to take care of.

That just won’t do. Desperately hoping every day of his new domestic life won’t be quite so uneventful, Bull tidies his work up, stops up his inkwell, gathers everything up and heads out of the kitchen. The letters are neatly deposited on the small entry table beside the front doors, his writing implements set back onto the small writing desk in his bedroom. If there’s nothing to do, he reasons, Bull will simply have to _find_ something to do.

It isn’t long before Bull finds himself with a thorough mental map of the house and a complete disdain for Tevinter interior décor. Everything is dark, pointy, gaudy, or some combination thereof. It‘s clearly supposed to send a message, careless wealth and power – honestly it’s just ugly. And Dorian had the nerve to accuse his pants of being in poor taste.

Despite the art and luxurious furniture, the house still feels cold. According to his delegation’s information the place only very recently finished its remodeling, but the decoration is clearly supposed to be complete. Having absolutely no _personal_ touches anywhere in the house is actually kind of… creepy. Even in Orlais at least they’d been clearly over-indulging individual desires; Tevinter just seems to be showing off for the sake of it.

Bull suspects it’s a symptom of all Tevinter households, not just this one, and finds himself having to fight the urge to break one of the hideous vases just on principle. In lieu of spitefully destroying the furnishings he takes himself out the parlor doors to the gardens. The last thing he needs is to give them a reason to purchase even more.

In stark contrast to the gloomy, dark wood paneling and muted blues and greens of the interior, the large flagstone patio he finds himself on is bright and warm with midday sunlight. To the right is a large stone firepit ringed by smooth benches, in front of him a set of gracefully curved steps leading down to a garden path, to the left another path leading toward the side of the house out of sight around some shrubbery. The patio is flanked by low ferns and foliage, small sweet flowers, but most remarkable are the towering lilac bushes drooping under heavy flower clusters. The warm breeze carries the floral scent easily, lending the whole scene a very surprisingly peaceful air.

Well that’s unexpected. Somehow he had imagined the gardens would manage to be as gloomy and dramatically sinister as the dining room chairs, but they’re spacious and lush and tranquil. Empty, but not lifeless. Bull steps down onto the garden path and begins to walk through in a measured pace. There are empty plots as he passes further from the main house, several places still waiting for flowers or shrubbery or shade trees to be delivered and planted.

So the renovations aren’t _quite_ complete. Still, there’s a beautiful pond as expected, smooth and still and dotted with petals from nearby flowers. As he makes his way through the winding paths he checks on the perimeter, casts about for anything interesting about the gardens. There are a few herbs planted along the side of the house, neatly tended. The path that wraps around the side of the house ends in another wide stone yard, though this one isn’t tastefully surrounded by foliage. Instead it opens onto grass and a much wider field, dotted with large stones and large leafy trees shading portions of the lawn from the midday sun.

He’s unsure about it for a moment before noting the lack of lower story windows and realizes it’s a practice field. There’s nothing as ordinary as training equipment (that’s all tucked into a smaller building off on the opposite side of the house, along with plenty of various bits of garden equipment) to give it away and look less than pristine, but he supposes even the aristocracy might want to flex now and then.

Bull considers his next move as he slowly strides down the path leading back inside. He’s familiar with the layout of the house and grounds, doesn’t see any glaring problems to fix for security purposes, hasn’t learned anything that his hurried intelligence brief on the Pavus family hadn’t already been able to dig up.

As soon as he closes the door behind him and exits the parlor there’s a sharp knock on the manor’s front doors, startling him out of his planning. A frown tugging the corners of his mouth, Bull pulls open the door to find an unexpected assembly on his doorstep. Down the steps is an assortment of serviceably dressed elves and humans – slaves, he notes – and in front of him is the very man with whom Dorian had been conversing irritably at the party last night. Likely here in part to finish the discussion, if Bull’s intuition holds out.

“Magister Pavus,” Bull smiles pleasantly at the man and steps aside, pulling the door wide. “this is a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?”

Halward sweeps inside and manages to only stare for a very brief moment before nodding to Bull in reply. “Indeed, good afternoon Iron Bull. I was hoping to speak to Dorian, and so I accompanied the slaves on their trip here. My apologies for any inconvenience. Would you happen to know where I can find him?” He doesn’t fidget, doesn’t show any outward signs of impatience or distress.

Bull inclines his head and gives a short nod. “His study, I think.”

Waving a hand Halward immediately takes off in that direction. “Don’t mind the slaves, they’ll sort themselves out shortly, and your house staff should be taken care of.” He disappears in a rush, leaving Bull to first squint after him, then turn his attention on the people filing into the house to, apparently, make up his new household serving staff.

The day suddenly seems much less boring, and he feels as if he should have been more careful when he made his wish for an interesting stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize so much for the month of waiting you guys went through. I had a major issue getting this out because I had to get some things lined up right so the rest will flow, and I think I finally managed. Don't you worry, I have an outline for the rest and it will be happening slowly but surely, so hopefully this long a wait won't be necessary again. As always if you wanna chat with me about anything just hit me up on tumblr or twitter!


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